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Butterfly (c) Nikolai Kingsley
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Butterfly
© Nikolai Kingsley
he climbed to the top of the shallow hill, found a suitable spot under a
banyan tree and sat down, facing the valley. from here, he could see up the
valley to where the hills curved slowly to the right; the glittering trail
of the river running along the bottom of the flattened v-shape. nearby, he
could see thousands of shades of green in the foliage; distance gradually
reduced these to a lush, verdant shade, which he saw as the epitome of
rich, vibrant life; he could imagine that this was the sort of jungle which
could suffer almost total defoliation and regrow within two months,
stronger than before. he entertained a mild fantasy of the jungle growing
through the nearby developing city, lianas insinuating themselves in
windows and down drains, along conduits, tearing the buildings apart and
bringing the territory back to the primal state from which it had been
wrested.
he reached out idly and snapped the dry, brown end off a vine which dangled
overhead, popped it in his mouth and chewed it. he had no idea what it was
(there were thousands of undiscovered and unnamed plants in this area), but
within a few minutes he felt the effect which the locals had described; a
loose, boneless relaxation, a dizzy detachment from his sense of physical
presence which abruptly vanished, giving a feeling as if he had been dumped
back into his body. this was the third time he'd tried it, and this time,
he began to feel it - a definite sensation of arousal. smiling to himself,
he undid his jeans and slid them off, followed by his underpants, and sat
in the shade of the tree, eyes closed, with no particular impulse to
masturbate towards orgasm; he was content to sit there and enjoy the
feeling. his sense of feeling became more pronounced; he could feel the
individual ridges of bark on his back, could identify single blades of
grass tickling his side, and the feeling of the cool breeze stirring his
pubic hair was enough to make him want to spend the rest of his life there.
the sounds of insects and birds faded into the background, and for a
moment, he was suspended in a timeless pulse, in which he felt that he was
a small part of the convoluted, infinitely varied life around him. when the
feeling passed, he couldn't say how long it had lasted; his sadness at what
he saw as a return to his mundane physical state was slightly tempered by
the slowly mounting feeling of arousal. he shifted slightly, moving from
his sitting position against the tree to lie flat on the ground, his head
supported slightly by a hummock of grassy ground which covered one of the
tree's massive roots. he stretched, arms folded behind his head, relishing
the feeling as his erection waved in the cool air, and began an exercise
which he'd learned from an associate, a professional deviate in Cartagena,
which involved rhythmic contractions of the perineal muscles. with each
pulse, his cock shifted upward toward his belly, the timing of the pulses
stretching out until he was holding the muscles clenched, his penis
quivering with the effort. slowly, he relaxed, his penis shifting downward
to orient upwards; he waited for the space of six breaths and began again.
he found the motion of his penis as it dropped back wonderfully
stimulating, and so he spread the timing of the pulses until his erection
was moving back and forth like a metronome.
growing bored with this after about ten minutes, he decided to see how long
he could keep it in one position; he carefully tensed until it was pointing
at about forty-five degrees, and then held it there. this required a great
deal of concentration, and to his surprise, the quivering of the muscles
around his groin seemed to be slowly bringing him to a climax. as he
maintained that attitude, the feeling wavered just short of orgasm.
a tickling sensation on the head of his penis almost made him lose his
concentration. he glanced down and received a mild shock when he saw that a
large butterfly had landed. It exposed its beautifully coloured wings -
which must have been at least fifteen centimetres across - and then turned
around to face him, balancing artfully on the underside of his shaft,
waving its wings slowly. with an effort, he kept as still as possible and
examined it.
from the underside, the neon colours of its wings were muted, but still
striking; its forelegs gripped the head of his penis, its feathery antennae
pointing out like a handlebar moustache, each one dipping slightly in turn,
almost as if it were slowly waggling its eyebrows at him.
the effort involved in keeping his erection motionless diminished slightly,
and once the quivering in his muscles faded, the butterfly seemed assured
of a steady perch and it crawled forward until its wings were held out
parallel to the ground, a delicately jewelled parasol. after being on the
point of climax for the past two minutes, he suddenly found himself having
to stave off orgasm; if he came, he'd drench the butterfly, or at the very
least, make it look for a more stable landing pad. he closed his eyes and
bit his lip with the effort; he had almost overcome the feeling and had
opened his eyes, only to see the butterfly extend its spiral tongue and dip
it into the slit at the end of his penis, to drink the salty fluid which
had gathered in a droplet there. the hesitant, tickling touch pushed him
over the edge, and he came, his penis jerking upwards spasmodically, drops
of come shooting up to land on his chest and belly, gradually falling
closer to his groin with each pulse. the final spasm pushed a stream of
pale fluid out to run down the top of his shaft. amazingly, the butterfly
had hung on throughout the ride, wings waving erratically as it kept its
balance; it crawled further forward to dart its tongue into the liquid
which was still emerging. he watched in amazement as it drank, occasionally
arching its wings back and then folding them down to cover the head of his
penis, all the while coiling and uncoiling its tongue. after about two
minutes of this, his erection began to subside; possibly sensing this, the
butterfly dipped both antennae in what he imagined to be a jaunty gesture
of thanks, carefully turned around (the tickling sensation of its sharply
terminated feet almost inspiring another erection), flapped its wings twice
and departed. he followed its path as it moved through the air, dodging
drunkenly around the branches of the banyan, until it was hidden by the
masses of foliage which grew in collusion with the tree.
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